


The Truth of Love

by WorryinglyInnocent



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorryinglyInnocent/pseuds/WorryinglyInnocent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[First posted on FF.net] AU ending to ‘An Apple Red As Blood’. Storybrooke’s Sheriff lies in a coma, and one frightened but determined ten-year-old is desperate to save her. And we all know to whom people go when they’re desperate. “Aren’t you a little young to be getting into debt, Henry?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth of Love

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking the other day, and I was wondering, what if the situation at the end of AARAB had been reversed, if Emma had eaten the turnover unaware of its potential? Would the true love connection have worked both ways round and Henry been able to save Emma?

When Henry sees the ambulance outside Emma’s apartment building, he starts to fear the worst. When he gets no answer over the walkie talkie, those fears are compounded, and when he sees the paramedics rush Emma out on a stretcher, those fears are confirmed. He runs over to Miss Blanchard, who’s shaking like a leaf as they load her friend and flatmate into the ambulance. 

“Miss Blanchard, what’s happened?” he asks. 

“Oh, Henry, I don’t know, Emma’s ill, I just came in and found her collapsed. But she’s going to be ok; they’ll take her to the hospital and figure out what’s wrong…”

The paramedics interrupt to get more information from Miss Blanchard, and Henry stares at the open apartment door. He knows what’s happened, even if no-one else does. It was almost fated to happen. He spies his chance and rushes into the apartment whilst Miss Blanchard and the medical people are distracted. There’s no sign of anything untoward in the apartment, but then again, there wouldn’t be. If the book is to be believed – and it’s never been wrong before – then the apple must be taken willingly. There wouldn’t be any signs of a struggle. But unnoticed under a dining chair, Henry spots something. One of his mother’s apple turnovers, one corner bitten off. Just as he suspected. 

Henry sits down with a thud on the ground, because although he knows what’s wrong now, he has no idea how to fix it, and no idea to whom he can go for help. The one thing that’s keeping him going is the fact that Emma isn’t dead. She simply can’t be. She’s just fallen into eternal sleep, the sleep of living death. No breath, no pulse, but still not dead. 

He has a sudden, terrible thought. What if the apple works differently in a land without magic? What if, when Emma flatlines, she actually dies? No, it can’t work like that, because there are some traces of magic, even here. August is turning back into wood after all. August! Henry scrambles up. August is a believer, he’ll know what to do. Or, at least, he might have an idea. He bumps into Miss Blanchard, who’s come to lock up before going with Emma in the ambulance.

“It was the apple!” he says quickly, thrusting the turnover into her hands. “Snow White’s poisoned apple!”

“Henry, this isn’t a fairy tale…” But Henry doesn’t wait around to listen to Miss Blanchard telling him that fairy tales are just stories and that this is Real Life. He races off down the stairs and towards Granny’s and August, all the while trying desperately to think of a solution and failing. Snow White fell into eternal sleep and was woken by True Love’s Kiss. But Emma doesn’t have a true love, does she? And even if she did, if there was someone in Storybrooke destined for her like that, Henry would never get them to believe it. So there’s got to be another way. Because if Emma falls into eternal sleep, then there’s no way she can break the curse. (Which is the whole point, Henry reminds himself, why else would the Evil Queen want her out of the way?) Everyone’s happy endings, and, more importantly, Emma’s life, are in Henry’s hands. It’s a tough responsibility for one ten-year-old to shoulder, which is why he needs August’s help. 

He hammers on the writer’s door. 

“Who is it?”

August’s voice sounds not so much croaky as _creaky_ , like wood under strain. A shiver runs down Henry’s spine. 

“It’s Henry,” he says. “You’ve got to help me, it’s Emma, she ate a poisoned apple and now…”

“Henry, I’m sorry… I can’t help… I can’t move…”

Henry bends down and peers in through the keyhole. He can see August’s feet on the bed, very stiff-looking, and he comes to the conclusion that he must be fully wooden now, or as good as. He adds it to his increasing list of things that he’s got to do: save Emma, bring back the happy endings, get August turned into a real man again…

“Oh.”

Henry is at a complete loss. He doesn’t know who else to turn to, and the thought of saving Emma alone is a terrifying one. No-one else in the town would believe him, and he can’t explain the problem without going into the realms of magic and curses. 

“What... happened?” August asks. 

“Emma ate Snow White’s poisoned apple and fell into eternal sleep, but she doesn’t have a true love so I don’t know how to wake her up,” Henry says, trying to remain calm, because every second counts here. 

“Magic,” August croaks. “She needs magic.”

“But there’s no-one with magic more powerful than the Evil Queen.” 

There’s a long pause, and one final creak of wood under so much pressure that it’s almost splintered.

“There is.”

There is. Henry remembers now. Of course there is. He’s never thought about it till now, because he’s never had much reason to. There’s Rumpelstiltskin. He knows there’s nothing more that August can do, but there’s still a problem. 

“I don’t know who he is,” Henry whispers to August’s door. There’s no reply. He didn’t expect one. He’s on his own from now on, unless Rumpelstiltskin can help him. Anyone who knows more about magic than Henry does will be a help, and Rumpelstiltskin knows all there is to know. 

He’s also evil, and he drives a hard bargain. 

And Henry doesn’t know who he is. 

But any hope is better than none, and Henry steels himself up. There’s only one thing for it. He gets his book out of his bag and opens it at the end, at the point where Rumpelstiltskin tells the Evil Queen how to enact the curse, and he stares at the illustration. If he can’t match Storybrooke citizens to characters, he’ll have to start with the characters and match them to the residents. That Regina is the Evil Queen, there is no question. But Rumpelstiltskin will be harder to identify from sight alone without the claw-like fingers and gold-dusted skin. 

Gold-dusted.

Gold. 

Suddenly it all makes horrible sense, and Henry doesn’t know why he didn’t see it before. He’d been too busy looking for fairy tale characters with limps, probably.  
The contracts, the deals, Rumpelstiltskin being promised his estate and Mr Gold owning most of Storybrooke. 

It would have to be _him_ , wouldn’t it? 

Still, nothing chanced, nothing gained. Henry has to save Emma, no matter what it takes. But Rumpelstiltskin doesn’t do anything for nothing. Henry’s going to have to make a deal. He only has twenty-three dollars in his money-box and that’s at home, and somehow Henry doesn’t think that going home is a good idea. Hopefully, Rumpelstiltskin will accept an IOU. 

He stows the book back in his bag and leaves Granny’s in the direction of the pawnshop. This is his only chance. He’s got no other ideas. The whole town is talking about the ambulance, about Emma’s collapse. Henry’s tempted to go to the hospital to see how she is, but that won’t help to wake her up, and too soon he’s outside the pawnshop. He takes a couple of deep breaths before he goes in. 

Mr Gold is standing behind the counter and looks up as Henry enters. 

“Hello, Henry. What can I do for you?”

Henry gulps.

“I want to make a deal.”

Mr Gold raises an eyebrow. 

“Aren’t you a little young to be getting into debt?”

“It’s Emma,” Henry says. “You have to help me save Emma. I only have a dollar and eighty cents in change at the moment, but you can have my allowance…” He tails off as Mr Gold shakes his head.

“I knew it would only be a matter of time,” he mutters. To Henry, he says: “Henry, I’m not sure how I could help Emma. I’m a pawnbroker, not a doctor. She’s in the hospital, it’s the best place for her.”

“No,” Henry says, and he hopes that August is right and that Rumpelstiltskin can help, and that he himself is right and Mr Gold is Rumpelstiltskin. “It’s not the best place for her, because they’ll just think she’s dead when she falls into eternal sleep, and you’re not a doctor, or a pawnbroker, you’re Rumpelstiltskin, and you can do anything if the price is right.”

Mr Gold’s face is completely impassive, and he gestures through to the backroom with his cane. Henry follows him. 

“I knew it would only be a matter of time,” he repeats. “You’re a remarkably astute young man, Henry.” He sits down on the edge of his desk. “But I can’t do anything. Not without magic. I’m sorry.”

“And you have no magic in Storybrooke,” Henry says. There’s a long silence. “So there’s nothing you can do? No deal?”

“There’s nothing _I_ can do, Henry, but there is something _you_ can do.”

Henry doesn’t know whether to be pleased or terrified, but before he can decide, the shop doorbell hails the arrival of another customer. Mr Gold gestures to Henry to wait in the back room and limps through into the main shop. 

“Good evening,” Henry hears him say calmly.

“A very good evening, Rumpel. I take it you heard the commotion.”

It’s Regina. 

“Indeed I did, your Majesty.”

“So I’m sure that I needn’t explain what has happened. It seems our good sheriff has been taken unexpectedly ill.”

“How tragic.”

Henry feels his blood begin to curdle in his veins. He already knew that Regina had poisoned Emma, but now he has heard her openly admit it. He peers around the doorframe into the shop, and Regina’s triumphant smile vanishes when she sees him. 

“Henry…”

Henry doesn’t know what to say. He feels sick. 

“Henry, I was only doing what was best for you.”

“You poisoned Emma,” Henry manages to choke.

“Henry…” Regina’s voice is pleading. 

“Leave him alone,” says Mr Gold coolly. “ _Please_.”

Henry’s heard him use that tone of please with her before and only now realises the significance. Regina’s hands are tied by a magic she agreed to long, long ago. All she can do is leave the shop.

“Henry, I swear, no matter what you think, I love you,” she says.

“Remember, your Majesty,” Mr Gold snarls as she goes to the door. “All magic comes with a price.”

There’s a heavy silence for what seems to be an inordinately long time after Regina has gone. 

“You don’t play with the curse,” Mr Gold mutters, echoing words that Henry has said many times before to Emma. “If it is to be broken, it is to be broken.” He turns to Henry, as if he’s only just remembered that the boy is there. “Come on, Henry, Emma needs you.”

Henry, who has decided on trepidation as the best way to describe his feelings towards whatever task it is that he has to accomplish to save Emma, follows the magician-turned-pawnbroker out of his shop and along the street towards the hospital. No-one pays them any attention, all too busy discussing Emma’s collapse in their own little cliques. 

“So, what do I have to do to save Emma?” Henry asks, because whilst he’s willing to do pretty much anything to save her, he hopes it’s not too difficult in case he messes it up. 

“What’s the most powerful form of magic, Henry?” Mr Gold asks.

“True Love’s Kiss,” Henry replies within a beat. He knows this one by heart.

“And why is that?”

“Because True Love’s Kiss can break any curse.”

“And because it transcends all boundaries, and crosses all realms,” Mr Gold elaborates. “The most powerful form of magic will exist even here, in a land with no other magic.”

“But Emma doesn’t have a true love here,” Henry says. “That’s why I need help to save her.”

“What is true love, Henry?”

The question catches him completely off guard. 

“I don’t know. I’m only ten. I figured that I’d find out when I was older and actually in love with someone.”

“Ah, but loving someone and being _in_ love with someone are slightly different entities,” Mr Gold says, and he pauses. “You’re a bit young for the details, but everyone sets too much store by being in love. What about the love between brothers and sisters? Parents and children? Is that any less true a love?”

Henry stops dead in his tracks, his head reeling, and Mr Gold breaks stride to stay beside him. He can’t quite believe it, and he’s kicking himself for not realising before. It takes him a few moments to get it straight in his head.

“So True Love’s Kiss… As long as it is someone they truly love…”

“The truth of the love will be enough,” Mr Gold says. 

“So, you’re saying I could save Emma?”

Mr Gold just gives him a knowing look.

“You were prepared to deal with the devil to save her,” he points out. 

Henry’s off like a shot, running up the street to the hospital and leaving Mr Gold in the metaphorical dust. He’s still packing the momentous revelations away in his mind when he gets through the main door. 

“Henry!” Miss Blanchard is in the foyer of the hospital with Dr Whale. “Henry, I’m so sorry.”

“Where’s Emma?” Henry asks, his heart in his mouth. She’s not dead, he reminds himself. She’s just fallen into eternal sleep. 

“I’m so sorry, Henry, the doctors did all they could, but…”

She’s not dead, Henry tells himself again, but it seems a lot harder to believe it now that he’s in the hospital, where everything is stark and white and smells of disinfectant. 

“Where is she?” he manages. “I want to see her.”

He’s not sure if he does, actually, because seeing her looking like she’s dead might make him believe that she is.

“I’m not sure…” Dr Whale begins, but he’s cut off by Mr Gold’s voice.

“Let the boy say goodbye to his mother.”

There’s a long pause.

“Ok.” Miss Blanchard puts her hand round Henry’s shoulder. “She’s through here.”

Emma looks just like she’s sleeping, which she is, Henry says to himself. There aren’t any tubes or wires or buzzing monitors; they’ve all been taken away. She’s just fallen into eternal sleep, and Henry can wake her up, because she’s his mother and he loves her, and he knows she loves him too and would do the same for him. She is cold when he touches her hand, but Henry closes his eyes and believes, because believing is half the battle. He puts his arms round Emma’s neck.

“Please wake up,” he murmurs in her ear. “Please wake up. We need you. Storybrooke needs you. But I need you more. You’re my mum, and I love you.”

He kisses her cheek, and stays holding her for a long time, even though Emma is horribly cold and the angle is awkward. He feels a hand on his back, and he assumes it’s Miss Blanchard, telling him it’s time to go, until he hears Emma’s voice.

“I love you too, Henry.”


End file.
